


Sabbath

by Spunkybob5



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Crowley, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Sad Castiel, Sad Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spunkybob5/pseuds/Spunkybob5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Castiel have an annual ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sabbath

The wrought iron gates protested loudly as Crowley wedged them open. Based on the unkempt look of the place, they hadn’t been opened in some time.

A year, he wagered.

The leaves crunched under his feet, and Crowley stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat. If he so chose, he could ignore the cold completely, or materialize next to his destination. But not this day. This day, Crowley chose to be as close to human possible.

He dragged a hand over a once-smooth headstone, now pocked with age. Another day, he would return and repair it properly. Today, though, he just brushed away the excess dirt, revealing a name. Mary.

Crowley paused at the next headstone, lip curling in a sneer. Even after all these years, he still hated that man. How much more good might Dean have done if John hadn’t instilled such self-loathing? Crowley noticed the jagged crack running on an angle across the headstone, like lightning frozen in marble. It was tempting to smash it apart, scatter the pieces like so many ashes in the wind.

But he wouldn’t. He would repair John’s when he repaired Mary’s.

Not today. Not on his Sabbath.

A few more paces, and Crowley stopped, eyes flicking between the headstones. Names, dates, and a single word to encompass each man in life.

Crowley pulled the bottle of amber liquid from his coat and waited.

***

_Crowley came immediately. The demon had no more information than a location, but it was enough. He’d found them, the three of them, scattered across the ground. The boys were still._

_Crowley knew death when he saw it._

_Movement caught his eye. A vampire was creeping to Castiel, fangs bared, ready to suck the angel dry._

_Crowley doesn’t remember shouting, but he must have, because the vamp looked up, surprise flicking across his features, before Crowley vaporized him._

_“Dramatic, Crowley. When did you become a hero?”_

_Crowley turned, “Take them to Heaven, Billie.”_

_The reaper raised a brow, “I promised them the void.”_

_Crowley stepped forward, temper already stretched thin, “The only true promise anyone can make is death.”_

_Billie snorted, “Why’d you save the angel?”_

_Crowley looked back down at Castiel, lowering himself to his side. Demons rarely healed others, but they had the power, and Crowley had more power than most. With a flick of his wrist, the wounds leaking grace were sealed. Castiel didn’t wake, but his breathing leveled out._

_Crowley turned back to Billie, “He matters.”_

_Billie snorted again, turning away._

_“Take them to Heaven, Billie.”_

_“Or what?” she snapped._

_Crowley stepped forward, power crackling under his skin, “Or I will see to it you join them in the void.”_

_Billie sighed, “Relax, Crowley. They’re already there.”_

_Crowley raised his eyebrows._

_“You didn’t think I’d ignore a direct commandment from God, did you?”_

_Crowley nodded in farewell. With a snap of his fingers, the four vanished._

***

A snapped twig pulled Crowley from his thoughts. The visitor stopped next to him, beige trench shifting in the breeze. He didn’t speak, instead holding four glasses out to be filled.

Crowley obliged, filling each glass with a generous portion before setting the bottle on the ground and taking two glasses from his companion. They stepped forward in unison. The flat-topped headstones had been chosen with this ritual in mind. Crowley set a glass on the tombstone marked ‘Hero.’ He head the faint clink that told him a glass had been set upon the other stone, the one marked ‘Beloved.’ He turned, lifting his glass in a silent toast. The gesture was returned, and they drank.

***

_“Why didn’t you let me die?” Castiel wailed. He hands clawed at Crowley, torn between shoving him away and anchoring himself through his grief._

_Crowley let him scream. He didn’t offer comfort._

_But he didn’t leave._

_Castiel was too weak to move for several days. Crowley enchanted the bodies, the husks of heroes, to keep them from decomposing. He told himself it was to avoid the smell, but that wasn’t the only reason._

_Finally, Castiel asked to see them._

_Crowley helped him down the hall, taking the bulk of Castiel’s (surprisingly heavy) weight. They stopped in Sam’s room first. Crowley lowered Castiel to the chair by the bed before stepping into the hall. He’d already said his piece to the great moose. It was Castiel’s turn._

_Crowley could hear Castiel’s voice, words indistinct, as he murmured apologies and goodbyes to his friend. He waited until Castiel’s voice rose, calling him back to the room._

_Castiel looked drained, weary in ways Crowley had never seen. He hesitated, considering returning Castiel to bed. Castiel was determined, though, and Crowley half-carried him to Dean._

_There was no sound when they entered the room. Crowley lowered Castiel to the bed next to Dean. He didn’t say anything, just walked from the room, closing the door behind him._

_He was all the way to the library when he heard it. Not that it mattered. The sound of Castiel’s grief could be heard in all the ends of the earth._

***

The bottle was nearly empty before either of them spoke.

“Why did you stay, Crowley?”

Crowley blinked, “A hundred and fifty years since the day they died, and you’re asking now, Castiel?”

Castiel gave a crooked smile, “Better late than never.”

Crowley huffed, “Touché.” He swirled his glass, stalling. “It was selfish, really.”

“You’re a demon, Crowley. Everything you do is selfish,” Castiel’s words held no heat.

“You know me so well,” Crowley threw back the last of his drink. “I stayed because if I hadn’t, you would have died. And these memories, the things we did together, for better or worse…they are heavy. I don’t want to carry them alone.”

Castiel said nothing, refilling their glasses with the last of the bottle. He stepped to Dean’s headstone, and Crowley mirrored his actions at Sam’s. Castiel lifted his glass, but didn’t nod.

Crowley furrowed his brow.

“To shared burdens.”

Crowley smiled and drank, slowly pouring Sam’s portion into the dirt.

When the glasses were empty, the men moved towards the ancient gates. Castiel scowled at John’s grave, but paused a Mary’s, repairing it with a wave of his hand.

Crowley waited for him.

Once outside, they paused again.

“See you next year, Angel.”

“Take care of yourself, Demon.”

The wrought iron gates groaned shut, standing guard for another year.


End file.
